Death Days
by hilarityallen
Summary: Severus receives some bad news and meditates upon his life.


Death Days

Originally written as a challenge, about 'Bad News'.

'Fore them neidfaerae naenig uuiurthit

thoncsnotturra than him tharf sie,

to ymbhycggannae, aer his hiniongae,

huaet his gastae, godaes aeththa yflaes

aefter deothdaege doemid uuerthae.'

Bede's Death Song

He had expected it for a long time. After all, a powerful wizard is well-attuned to his body. Yet it still managed to surprise him, this confirmation of something long-known. It was real, undeniable; a fast-growing cancer which would rob him of his life. No more remedies were possible - he had brewed and drunk many potions in secret before admitting the inevitable, and taking himself off to Blaise Zabini, the current Infirmarian. Now all that was left was the brew of the poppy, to make his last months sweeter.

He wondered if Albus had felt like this at the end, concealing his heart condition from Poppy, secretly garnering foxglove from the gardens in Hogsmeade, and finally having to admit defeat after a heart attack at Ron Weasley's wedding. He still had not forgiven Albus for his sudden elevation to Headmaster; Minerva had died in St Mungo's after the final battle, and Albus would not trust the school to an outsider. Personally, he suspected the old bastard had put a curse on the School Governors to do his bidding.

What now, he wondered. Whom shall I recommend to this post? Not another Slytherin, so soon. Perhaps Longbottom. A small smile bent his lips. Sixty years would do that to a fellow, change him from a terrified teen to a steady man. A man whom he had looked at, lusted for, yet never taken. He had a lifetime of regrets, starting from that one decision made before he was even of age. Yet he had known success, even adulation. There was a time when the headmaster of Hogwarts was whoring his way round the wives of polite society, avoiding his less acceptable desires at home.

But all of that was in the past, now. Perhaps someone would write a weighty tome about him; he would take his place in Hogwarts: A History, as a teacher of Harry Potter, and a headmaster. He would be reviled for his first choice, and lauded for his second, praised for his handling of the school, noted for his illicit sexual activities. Yet none would know what he had thought of it all. And none would know what would happen to him after he died. He knew of the Muggle concepts, and those of the wizarding world, but he wasn't sure he believed in any of it.

He brewed himself a vial of laudanum, and drank one measure. He knew that soon he would be drinking ten times as much, and seeing visions. He wondered whether those visions would show him truly about his fate, but he could not bring himself to worry about it. Either he was eternally damned by his first decision, in which case nothing mattered, or there was no self-awareness, and he would never again be troubled by his nightmares. He still hankered after public approval; he resented this in himself.

He walked around the edge of the lake. It was a fine spring day. He saw Longbottom tending the Whomping Willow. He seemed unworried, healthy. He wished again to be free of the tyranny of envy, but even at the end of his life he was fated to be envious, and unable to stop himself being so. He decided to rewrite his will. He would recommend Longbottom - he had overcome that prejudice at last.

Feeling a little freer and easier, he wandered back up towards the castle, bathed in the spring light. It was far older than even he; ten times his age and more. Perhaps his eternity might be to watch the years pass, and he thought he could bear that. He had borne it before. His portrait, at least, would be able to watch, though he probably couldn't avoid Albus. He'd put Albus at the entrance to his chambers, to watch over them, and to stop the blasted man telling him to be careful. But no portrait could be entirely hidden away. He wondered if his experience would be useful to Longbottom. He wondered whether he should have loved, and what he had missed by not doing so. His mind floated.

There was time left, however. He would invite Longbottom up for tea.

THE END

The poem at the start is Bede's Death Song, which means: 'In the face of that unavoidable journey / No man is wiser than needs must be / When reflecting, before his departure/ On what may be decided for his soul/ By way of good or evil, after his death day.'


End file.
